


confidants (but never friends)

by ThunderstormsandMemories



Series: long live the fast times (chatfic extended universe) [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Goro Akechi Lies To Himself About His Feelings ASMR, Introspection, M/M, Trans Male Character, Unreliable Narrator, and so is most of the fic, let akechi say fuck please atlus I'm begging you he deserves it, no beta we die like goro('s dignity), takes place after p5r justice rank 8 but spoilers through all of november, the homoerotic intimacy of letting yourself think someone's name, the title is a lie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24984505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderstormsandMemories/pseuds/ThunderstormsandMemories
Summary: He didn’t care. Hedidn’t. Kurusu was just a target, just another job. Being with him had been amusing, a break from the monotony of the rest of his existence, a way to waste time while waiting for the right moment to strike, and if he spent a little too long thinking about how Akira’s lips felt under his or how his hands looked curled around the hilt of his knife, well, everyone needed a hobby.OR,Akechi breaks up with his boyfriend/rival/target two weeks before he's meant to assassinate him. It's definitely not because he has feelings.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: long live the fast times (chatfic extended universe) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1808446
Comments: 3
Kudos: 51





	confidants (but never friends)

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings for: Akechi's whole deal but especially planning a murder and being way too casual about his own death and just not great mental health in general, I really don't know how to tag for that other than (gestures at how he is in canon). canon-typical Akechi and his unhealthy coping mechanisms
> 
> technically part of a series in that you could consider this a missing scene from [chatfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24484672/chapters/59098936) but that's absolutely not required reading and this 100% stands on its own (I mean. I wrote it and I think it's neat so you should check it out anyway but)
> 
> title from Hold Me Tight or Don't by Fall Out Boy

> _A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river_
> 
> _but then he's still left_
> 
> _with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away_
> 
> _but then he's still left with his hands._
> 
> (Richard Siken, _Boot Theory_ )

* * *

He didn’t care. He _didn’t_. Kurusu was just a target, just another job. Being with him had been amusing, a break from the monotony of the rest of his existence, a way to waste time while waiting for the right moment to strike, and if he spent a little too long thinking about how Akira’s lips felt under his or how his hands looked curled around the hilt of his knife, well, everyone needed a hobby. And sure, maybe he’d been increasingly unfocused--or focused on the wrong things--recently, but that was all the more reason to end their association, to be done with this meaningless distraction. Except that wasn’t right, was it? Because he was supposed to be the one doing the distracting, had thrown himself into Kurusu’s path like some wannabe femme fatale in a bad spy movie, casting himself simultaneously the righteous lawman and the treacherous love interest, the bait and the snare and the knife all in one.

But it was all, all of it, just an act, just another role for him to play, another mask to add to his collection: pitiful orphan, star honor student, detective, hitman, teen celebrity, thief, traitor, Akira Kurusu’s boyfr-

Well. He certainly wasn’t that anymore.

Goro had jumped onto the first train to arrive at the platform after leaving Kurusu at the station, not paying particular attention to where it was headed, but sitting there in the silence, among so many clueless strangers, was only making him more antsy, tapping his bare fingers restlessly against the handle of his briefcase and imagining them curling around the trigger of his gun instead. And then he could no longer stand how trapped and claustrophobic the train and the proximity of so many people was making him feel, and wanted to scream, to lash out, to do anything other than keep sitting quietly and pretend that everything was fine and this was just another night and he wasn’t barely holding himself together. He didn’t bother listening for the name of the stop before rushing out the door, didn’t bother to decide on a direction to walk and instead let his feet carry him farther and faster, until he reached the end of the street he had chosen and stopped, his breath hanging visible in the cold November air.

A small detached part of his brain noted that this park would probably make a good date spot, and for one single foolish moment he thought it might be nice to take Kurusu here, once the weather was nicer. As if either of them were going to live to see another spring.

He stared across at the lights from the bridge reflected in the water, trying to forget the kicked-puppy look on Kurusu’s face when he’d walked away, trying to pretend that he felt any kind of satisfaction from knowing that he’d succeeded in finding his weakness: his soft-hearted insistence on caring about everyone, even the monster he’d invited into his life and his bed. Because that was the thing that Goro kept getting stuck on. He had to _know_ , right? He was too clever not to, as much as he hid behind fake glasses and dumb jokes and misplaced gestures of compassion.

Sometimes the knowledge that they were both aware of the game made it easier, and sometimes it didn’t matter, because they still chose to play it anyway, and with each date, each laugh, each kiss, it felt less and less like playing. Which was also why it had to end, even as Goro cursed himself for a fool for throwing away an advantage, for giving Kurusu and his merry little band of misfits any more reason to suspect him. But as foolish as it was, he was also realistic about his own capabilities, and he knew his pathetic treacherous heart well enough to recognize that if he let this charade continue, every sweet touch and gentle word brought him closer to giving in to that horrible soft impulse and confessing everything, throwing himself onto the Phantom Thieves' dumb fucking mercy.

He gripped the handrail tightly, the cold metal painful against his bare skin, but it was something else to focus on, a physical sensation to distract him from his own spiralling thoughts. Except that it reminded him of how pointlessly sentimental he had been to give Kurusu his glove. What did he expect, that Kurusu would keep it instead of tossing it to the ground immediately, wanting to put this whole embarrassing show of emotions behind him? Well, he’d probably throw it in a trash can properly at least. Count on Kurusu to care about something like littering while he was an internationally wanted criminal holding the public consciousness for ransom in the palm of his hand.

Even knowing that he’d done it, cracked open the mystery of the Phantom Thieves, found the gaps in their armor and the vulnerability underneath, didn’t particularly make him feel better. He could dress it up in fancy words all he wanted, could tell himself that Kurusu’s weakness was friendship or optimism or trust but really, in the end what it came down to was that Kurusu was willing to extend any of those things to _him_. Which unfortunately meant acknowledging that he meant something to Kurusu, something more than the inexplicable goodwill he held towards humanity in general and individual tragic strangers in particular, that Kurusu saw something in Goro that was enough to make up for everything else about him. And admitting that he was Kurusu’s weakness was entirely too close to admitting that Akira was his.

The breeze from the water pushed a stray piece of hair into his eyes and he shoved it back behind his ear, annoyed. He’d have to get a haircut soon; really, was overdue for one. But both of his masks kept his hair out of his face well enough while he was fighting, and he had too many other more urgent things to deal with. Not that taking care of his appearance was inconsequential _—_ he had been in the media spotlight for long enough to know that his popularity was about _image_ more than anything he actually said or did _—_ but slightly longer hair still polled well among his target demographic. Apparently it made him look ‘boyish’ and ‘whimsical.’ Whatever. At least he’d been on testosterone for long enough that it wouldn’t make people think he was a girl anymore.

He really should have been heading back home, or what passed for home: a small, impersonal apartment with bare walls and almost-bare cupboards, paid for with someone else’s blood money, somehow less welcoming than Kurusu’s room, and Kurusu lived in a fucking attic. If he stayed out much longer he’d be risking missing the last of the trains he needed to catch to get back to his neighborhood, and then he’d have to walk back and be forced to skip several hours of sleep, and then he’d have to buy more concealer for the dark circles under his eyes because he was running low and there was another networking event tomorrow, and if he stayed out in the cold for much longer his gloveless hand was going to dry out and his knuckles would crack and bleed, and he wasn’t sure if he still had hand lotion from the previous winter or if he’d have to buy more of that too. But he still couldn’t bring himself to move, all of his previous frantic energy replaced by bone-deep weariness, as if maybe if he stood out in the darkness for long enough he could pretend that nothing that had happened tonight had been real, that he could make his way to Leblanc and come in from the cold, and he’d be greeted with a smile and a hug instead of a slammed door, a disappointed lecture, or a strong right hook and a broken nose. He told himself that the stinging of tears behind his eyes was just the cold and the wind, because it couldn’t be anything else. He didn’t care, and Kurusu didn’t care about him, not really, or at least he wouldn’t once he realized what Goro was doing. Of course, by then he wouldn’t have much longer to live but there was no point in dwelling on that: his death was a fixed point. His death, and then the election, and then Shido’s, and then probably Goro’s but by then it wouldn’t matter anymore.

If it was guilt had been preventing Goro from being able to meet Kurusu’s eyes recently, then that would be pretty goddamn pathetic of him, making him just as useless as any of the hypocritical adults he despised so much, the people who sang out empty platitudes and wrung their hands and looked the other way when children cried and starved and bled, or the politicians who made pretty speeches about working for the good of the people and then passed legislation that left the most vulnerable of those people to suffer and die in order to fill their own wallets, who cleared their paths to success by grooming children into weapons. Just as a hypothetical example, of course.

So it couldn’t be guilt that was to blame for ending their relationship now, or some misplaced kindness, to give Kurusu more of a warning than was prudent for Goro to give, to let him know that his murderer had always been his enemy, so that he would- what? So that at least he’d see the end coming and know that he hadn’t really been betrayed because there had never been any other option, never any real trust to betray? But that would be even worse than guilt, just as hypocritical and ultimately even more futile.

It couldn’t be doubt, not now, not when he was so close. He hardly even had to work for it anymore, just let himself be swept along as the days bled together and the clock ticked down and soon it would be the twentieth and he would be one inevitable step closer to this all being over, to _winning_. He would not now start to doubt, when he had never doubted in all the years since he’d set himself on this course of action, knowing from the moment he stood in Shido’s office for the first time that there was no turning back. Before then, even, when he awakened to his first persona, accepting Robin Hood’s offer and feeling, for the first time, powerful enough to do anything meaningful with his life, a purpose for all the resentment that was building up inside him. And that was the first time he felt like his body belonged to him, like his outfit matched the person he wanted to be instead of the one everyone thought he was. A hero, instead of a scared little schoolgirl. He wasn’t any of those things anymore, not that he ever really had been. But that was in the past, and all that mattered now was that his dedication hadn’t wavered, and with the end was so close that it was functionally inevitable, he would not waver now.

It wasn’t that this was any sort of grand, big-picture thing for which he was willing to sacrifice his own life, and Kurusu’s, and Okumura’s and Kobayakawa’s and Isshiki’s: on the contrary, it was so viciously intensely personal that if he didn’t see it through, no one would. No one else would avenge him, so it was up to him to do the job himself.

Kurusu, if he had explained, probably would have disagreed, would have looked at him with the same mortifying look of understanding in his eyes that he’d seen when he told him about his mother. At the time, somehow, it didn’t feel so bad, somehow warm and safe and almost like being known, but now he kind of never wanted to see Kurusu’s face ever again (which would make it a little bit awkward since they did still have to work together to get through the palace but he would deal with that when the time came), let alone with an expression so intimate. But then again, Kurusu was special, was the closest thing to a real hero it was possible to be. He was everything Goro had dreamt of being when he was little, and everything he’d dreamt of being saved by once he realized that people like him didn’t get to be heroes. It had been many years since he’d given up on being saved. People like him didn’t get that either.

Of course, Kurusu wouldn’t know a lost cause if one shot him in the face. And Kurusu was just like him in so many ways, beyond just the obvious, from his multiple personas to the energy he brought to their rivalry to the way he had never really fit in anywhere either and responded by having a different mask--he allowed himself the obvious metaphor even if it was a little too on-the-nose--for every occasion, tailored for who he needed to be in order to be useful to others so that they would keep him around, with each relationship as a transaction, a deal to be made, a game to be won because losing meant being lost. But somehow Kurusu had broken out of that mindset and made real friends, as unfathomable and inconvenient as that seemed to Goro, and despite how similar they were, he was living a wildly different life, so all of Goro’s old excuses about ‘people like him’ were starting to ring a little hollow, and maybe the problem really had just been him specifically all along.

Regardless, Joker’s idealistic determination was, arguably, what had made him and the Phantom Thieves so successful, so righteous, such a force for good. But it was also why he was so doomed. He was too much of a threat to too many powerful people who had too much invested in maintaining the status quo that he was trying to overturn, people who had built their power on exploiting those who couldn’t fight back. If it wasn’t Goro, it would be any number of hirelings sent by politicians and criminals worried they might be next up for a change of heart, and if it wasn’t any of them, it would be the police.

He shoved his hand into his pocket, fist clenched tightly enough that his nails left indents in his palm, and half-wished that Kurusu had given him his own glove in exchange. Just for practicality’s sake. Their hands were close enough to the same size that it would have given him something to wear until he got back to his apartment, at least. But Kurusu didn’t wear gloves outside the Metaverse, didn’t seem to need them, not like Goro did. Even though he shied away from sudden movement and sometimes froze like a startled cat if you touched him when he wasn’t expecting it, he didn’t seem to have a problem with physical contact when he was the one initiating it, or when it was with one of the Phantom Thieves. But Goro couldn’t seem to train himself out of feeling the impulse to fight or flee whenever someone got too close for him, even as he could force a smile and a handshake and repress the urge to commit a murder whenever someone put their hand on his shoulder, couldn’t seem to stop himself from always freezing at first even when it was a touch that he wanted, even when it was Akira. The gloves helped, made him feel like he was the one in control of who was allowed to get too close.

Joker’s gloves were flashier than anything Goro wanted to wear in the real world anyway, and there was something miserably ironic about Joker’s gloves being red and Crow’s being spotless and white, when his were the hands drenched in blood. Which is why this was purely pragmatic, only about the biting cold and nothing deeper or more sentimental than that. He definitely didn’t want anything as a keepsake, or as a trophy. He wasn’t pining, and he wasn’t gloating. He mostly wanted to not be thinking about this anymore, to forgot all about the Phantom Thieves and what he’d done and what he was going to do and Kurusu and his stupid piercing grey eyes and dumb fluffy hair and that damn smirk and his hands that moved with such grace whether he was pouring a cup of coffee or picking a lock or burying his knife in a Shadow or cradling Goro’s face to kiss him.

The cliche that you never forgot your first love made him want to vomit, but in this case it might be true, and not just because it was likely just as hard to forget the first person he would kill in the real world. His other victims were just as dead, but there was a layer of separations in the Metaverse that made it _—_ not easier, but doable, when he was sixteen and desperate and just barely knew what he was getting himself into. It was a cruel twist of circumstances that his first in-person victim was the first person who had tricked him into believing he could feel human since his mother. And it had taken him until recently to shake the feeling that he was partially to blame for her death, too. He likely wouldn’t have much time to regret Kurusu’s, which was in many ways a relief.

Fuck Kurusu and his stubborness and his mission and his thieves and his belief that even a society this rotten could be salvaged. Why hadn’t he just stopped after taking down the bastard hurting his friends, or realized earlier that popularity was more a curse than gift, or just listened to anything Goro had said ever, had taken his words as warnings and not just an inconsequential difference in opinion between fr- acquaintances.

He tipped his head up to look at the stars, resolutely not thinking about Kurusu taking him on a date to the planetarium and holding his hand when the lights went down. It had been fairly early in the summer and they’d gone back to Leblanc after, Goro making up some excuse for why they couldn’t go to his place, even though it was closer, that didn’t involve telling Kurusu that the apartment was under surveillance because his employer was keeping tabs on his to ensure his loyalty. Technically, he could have justified spending time with him as part of his efforts to find the Phantom Thieves, but he hadn’t been ready to tell Shido their true identities quite yet (he ignored the voice in the back of his mind that reminded him that he still hadn’t actually given him any identifying details, but that was because they operated on a need-to-know basis, nothing more) and besides, it wasn’t like he was particularly interested in tarnishing his credibility by outing himself, even privately, even if he could play it off like he wasn’t actually gay and just using Kurusu’s feelings against him, which was first of all too sleezy even for him, and second, too wrapped up in layers of half-truths that he didn’t want to admit to himself, let alone someone who didn’t deserve to know anything real about him until the moment he took his revenge.

Anyway. He’d spent the night at Leblanc, in the poorly air-conditioned room that Kurusu called his home, had woken up covered in sweat but unwilling to remove Kurusu’s arms from around him because he looked too soft in his sleep for Goro to disturb, at least for the moment, and then he’d fallen back asleep until Morgana had woken them both up by yelling for breakfast, and Goro tried very hard to suppress his blush at Morgana calling them boyfriends since he was still pretending not to understand his meows as words.

Okay, so maybe he was thinking about it a little bit. He gritted his teeth and considered throwing his phone into the water so he wouldn’t be tempted to call Kurusu and hear his recriminations or worse, his forgiveness. He considered smashing it on the ground, grinding the shards into dust beneath his foot, just to be sure that he would never do anything so pathetic as try to beg Kurusu to take him back. Instead he gripped the railing more tightly with his gloved hand and tried to focus on literally anything else, but his mind kept being drawn back to their duel, to the moment when he’d fallen to his knees, defeated, and of course it hadn’t been his full power because he wasn’t actually trying to kill Kurusu right then and there but he had still put enough of himself into the battle that he felt exhausted, couldn’t imagine standing up and fighting back even as Kurusu stepped closer and slid the point of his blade under his chin, tipping his head back and forcing him to look up at him. Goro had some vague idea that you were supposed to close your eyes when you saw your own death coming for you, but he kept his gaze fixed on Joker’s face, thinking foolishly, fleetingly, that if that was his last sight, it might be worth it: his mouth a thin implacable line, his eyes bright behind his mask, his knife pressed lightly against his skin, so tenderly it was almost a caress. He shivered, and he didn’t think it was from the cold.

Part of him had wanted to get up, to defend himself, but most of him was frozen in place, accepting that this was going to be his end, that it would be fitting. He had certainly done enough _—_ was planning on doing enough _—_ to Kurusu to earn it, to make it just retribution for his betrayal. If anyone deserved to kill him, it was Kurusu. But at the same time, he knew how he clung to his principles, how he prided himself and the Phantom Thieves on accomplishing their goals without killing anyone, and he didn’t want him to throw that away on his behalf, to become a murderer just for his sake. And then, even more dangerous, there was the tiny, insistent part that wanted Akira to live.

There had been a moment, a few weeks ago, when he’d given in to impulse and half-jokingly asked Kurusu to stay with him after this was over, to leave the Phantom Thieves behind, and let himself imagine, just for one shining, terrifying second that Kurusu might say yes. He couldn’t, of course he couldn’t, and maybe that was why he’d asked him, because Goro knew this and admired him for it even knowing that it was ruining him, but still. The thing about only being half joking is that he was also half serious, and it was a nice fantasy. He’d always vaguely thought it might be nice to travel abroad, to lose himself on the streets of an unfamiliar city where nobody knew his name or face and he could become anyone. Usually, he imagined himself alone in those scenarios, but it might be nice to have some company, if he were with someone who _-_ someone like Kurusu, there was no point avoiding it. He wanted to see what the two of them could become, removed from their ordinary lives and responsibilities and the memories that stained so much of this city, and then, while he was dreaming, he might as well picture the two of them coming home, returning to Leblanc and being greeted by the rest of Kurusu’s friends, who in this fantasy were always happy to see him too for some inexplicable reason, of Kurusu making them both curry for dinner and helping him clean up afterwards before falling asleep tangled up together, fondly bickering over his crossword puzzles, Kurusu gently bullying him into actually going to sleep instead of laying awake on his phone, reminding Kurusu to take a break when he'd been wearing his binder for too long, going grocery shopping together and holding hands in the checkout line, so sickeningly domestic and unrealistic that if it had been a movie he would’ve demanded his money back, or at least left a scathing review on the internet.

It had been a stupid childish daydream, crushed almost immediately by Kurusu’s polite refusal and playful counterproposal, but it still stuck with him, folded up and tucked away in the back corner of his mind, only resurfacing in moments of weakness, as he was drifting off to sleep, or when Kurusu’s hand brushed his as he passed him a cup of coffee, or right now.

He shook his head roughly, trying to clear his thoughts. He needed to get it together, needed to write this off as last-minute nerves, mistaking inconvenient teenage hormones for feelings, or the Phantom Thieves’ naive sentimentality infecting him somehow. But if he was being honest with himself _—_ not something he made a habit of, since in order to deceive your enemies you had to deceive your allies, and to deceive your allies you first had to deceive yourself _—_ he wasn’t sure if he’d ended their relationship to protect his plan or to protect his heart. Then again, he never had been quite sure of the line between self-preservation and self-sabotage, between holding himself apart to keep himself safe and keeping himself isolated because he didn’t have time for _—_ deserve _—_ nice things. Especially when it came to Kurusu, who had broken down his walls by letting Goro inside his own, who almost made Goro wish he could believe in other people’s promises. He’d never had the luxury of making choices for the sake of others, for choosing with his heart instead of his head, not when he knew that could only end in being used or abandoned, but something about Kurusu had made him want to try anyway, if only for a little while, if only in his most self-indulgent dreams. It hadn’t been enough, of course, because it never could, and it had always been too late, but he supposed it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, for him to have a taste of a life that could never have been his, and there was absolutely no point in dwelling on it any further than that.

With that, he turned on his heel and headed back toward the nearest train station, carefully rearranging his face into a pleasantly neutral expression, locking away his whole ridiculous crisis and burying it in mundane concerns about schoolwork and getting a haircut and buying new pair of gloves to replace the one he’d lost.

**Author's Note:**

> me when I realized this fic in which absolutely nothing happens was approaching 4k: damn when will this bitch shut up.... do I mean myself or Akechi  
> my roommate, helpfully: both
> 
> the place where Goro's being emo and looking at the water is the park where you go in rank 9 of Iwai's confidant, mostly because I personally think that the best place to be emo about your life is anywhere by a body of water at night
> 
> anyway now that I've gotten all that angst out of my system I can finally start working on Soft Goro Week stuff, but I've had this rattling around in my brain ever since I saw the duel scene uh. however many months ago that was because like, I was pretty invested from the beginning but that was the day I was like. oh it's time to think about nothing else for the foreseeable future
> 
> come say hi on [twitter!!](https://twitter.com/selkie_au_lover)


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